Even Sociopaths Need Blankets
by ShineYourOwnWay
Summary: Olivia was an orphan up until she turned 8, when she was adopted by a family and taken to live in Australia. She left behind a few friends when she went - not that any of them remember each other. But now Olivia is back, and moving into 221C Baker Street, and someone on the sidelines has something to say about the lack of memory. SherlockXOC Sherlock/OC, Season 2, pre-Reichenbach.
1. Prologue

**Even Sociopaths Need Blankets**

**Prologue**

When she was just 8 years old, Olivia Knight couldn't have known that she was hanging around with a soon-to-be sociopath and a borderline psychopath, and it figures that she wouldn't even know it when she met the very same men 20 years down the line. When she was first friends with the two of them, they were just nearly innocent little kids.

**_~21 Years Ago~_**

_ "But, Sherly! I thought you wanted to be a pirate!" A little girl threw her tiny arms into the air and brought them back down, crossing them as she threw a playfully sharp look towards the boy in front of her._

_The boy looked up at her, his blue eyes flashing with curiosity as he shook his head. "Not anymore, Liv! I'm gonna be a detective!" He told her, looking back down at the toy car in his hands as he drove it along the ground in front of him, making soft sound effects in time with whatever he was imagining._

_The girl, Liv, shook her head before sitting on her hands and knees in front of him. "Why'doo you want to be a de-tect-tive?" She pronounced the word slowly, trying to get it out correctly so that she wouldn't be scolded by him. Sherly had a tendency to correct her when she said something wrong._

_"Because they solve crimes!" He cried, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He glanced at her temporarily before going back to his car. "They get to see… Dead bodies and severed heads and stuff!" His voice rose an octave as he began to get excited. "Wouldn't it be fascinating?!" He turned to her now, waiting for an answer to his question._

_She looked wary for a second before becoming confused. "Severed heads?" She frowned. "What's a severed head?" She cocked her own head to the side quite a bit as she tried to understand her strange friend._

_Sherly just shook his head before getting up and almost skipping over to his bag by the shelves and taking a book from it, setting it in front of them as he began to flick through it, showing her pictures of cut up men and women and experiments and all kinds of gory images. _

_Liv didn't have much reaction except for surprise and slight awe. "What's that?!" She'd cry, quickly followed by a curt, "Oh," When Sherly explained what it was that they were looking at._

_This pattern went on for quite some time before one of the teachers at the school came over to see what the two children were so enthralled by._

_"What's got you two so riveted?" She asked, using that stupid voice that adults used to talk to children. Sherly scoffed in response. He was an 11 year old boy; he didn't need the baby voice anymore, and as far as he was concerned, neither did Liv._

_Sherly didn't understand what was so wrong about being fascinated by crimes; murders and homicides... Truthfully, he still found nothing wrong with the idea to this day, but he was about to discover that it wasn't something he should necessarily be so open about._

_It was less than an hour later when the appalled cry came from a women who rushed through the doors of the office and straight towards her son. "Sherlock Holmes!" At the woman's heels was Sherly's older brother, who Sherly scowled upon seeing. "What have you been showing the other students!?" She cried, taking the terrible book from her son's hands and flicking through it._

_Olivia was left sitting in the office as her friend was dragged out, being scolded the whole way, yet a blank expression still sitting softly on his face as he glanced back at Liv and smiled slightly, an action returned by the girl who sat in wait for someone to pick her up._

_It took quite some time before a woman finally came, muttering apologies to the principal of the school and assuring the man that Olivia would not be returning. It was soon after that they arrived at the bleak building that Olivia called home, filled with the identical rooms that were aligned almost like prison cells. It wasn't like the place was surrounded by wrought iron gates or anything, and the caretakers weren't even nasty, but the whole building just had that kind of feeling._

_After being informed that a family was coming to see her, Olivia went to her room to pack her things, only to be interrupted during her stuffing clothes into a bag by her other friend, Jimmy. She wasn't surprised that he had turned up. Even though the boys and girls weren't supposed to go into each other's rooms, he had always liked to stir up trouble, and sat on her bed with a little grin._

_"A family came for you, then?" He asked, already knowing the answer. The kids only ever packed up if a family had come to adopt them, so it wasn't that hard to figure out._

_Olivia just nodded as she packed the last of her things away, including a small note from Sherly that he had given to her a few days back, passed to her quickly as they sat at their desks during school._

_'There was a murder on the news, did you see it? – SH'_

_That was all the note said. At the time, the eight year old girl had merely frowned at her companion, not even knowing what a murder was at her young age. That was, of course, until Sherly had been so kind as to let her in on the morbid knowledge._

_Jimmy hopped down from the bed and grinned at Olivia as she slung her bag over her shoulder as best she could. The bag was quite heavy. "I'll miss having you around." Jimmy told her. "You were the only one who let me sneak into the room without telling." He said, the grin becoming stronger. "See you 'round, Livvy."_

_With that, the two of them both left the room and went their separate ways, Olivia to meet her new family and Jimmy to his room, where Olivia suspected he no doubt made up ways to 'murder' people. She was enjoying using the new words Sherly had taught her, and took whatever chance she got. She did regret it when she got Jimmy into trouble as he was suspected of plotting to kill people, the suspicion starting when Olivia used the word 'murder' in the same sentence as Jimmy, but the 12 year old weaselled his way out of it as he did all punishments._

**_~Now~_**

Considering Olivia had never been very tightly knit with either of the children, just friends with them on separate terms, 21 years later having no memory of either of them was completely plausible. In fact, neither of the two boys remembered either, other things occupying their minds. They didn't need to concern themselves with childhood memories that were no use to them.

There was one person who remembered Liv and Sherly, though, and it wouldn't take long before those memories would surface for the man and he would find himself in a front row seat watching all that would play out when they saw each other again - and having his own small part to play.


	2. Chapter 1

**Even Sociopaths Need Blankets**

**Chapter 1**

Olivia thanked the cabbie as she carted all three of her suitcases onto the path outside of 221B Baker St, struggling to move them all at once as well as the large bag slung over her shoulder. She eventually righted herself and managed to meet the door marked 221B, using the golden knocker in an attempt to get someone's attention.

This attempt didn't go unnoticed, as the door was answered in no time by the friendly face that Olivia knew as Mrs Hudson, who was currently donned in baking mitts. She removed them as she beckoned Olivia inside. "Olivia! Come in, come in!" She ushered before seeing the trouble Olivia was having with her luggage. "Boys! Come down here and help Olivia with her bags." She called up the stairs.

It was only a moment before heavy footsteps came down the stairs and Olivia noted that the man before them was slightly shorter than average height, though the way he held himself radiated an air of respect around him. While the rest of his face was blank, his eyes held a deep curiosity, and the wrinkles scratched across his face were the physical markings of the years of experience that life had shown him.

"John, dear, where's Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked the man as he crossed the last two steps and stopped in front of them.

John took a quick breath and released it with an almost wry expression. "Working." He said simply before extending a hand towards the woman before him. "You must be Olivia, right? The new tenant for the basement flat?" He asked for confirmation as Olivia took his hand. John already knew who she was, he was just asking to be polite and out of courtesy.

Olivia smiled a little and took his hand, shaking it slightly. "That's me." She glanced down at her feet for a second before looking back up at John. "It's nice to meet you." She said quietly, shifting her grip on one of her suitcases.

As they broke the handshake, John's gaze flicked down to the suitcases in her hands. "Ah, let me help you." He shuffled forward awkwardly, manoeuvring his way over to her and taking two of the suitcases as best he could. A minute more of awkward bumping into each other saw them finally downstairs and in the nearly vacant apartment, hands free of the weight of the suitcases as they gazed around at the mediocre furniture around them.

Olivia was slightly relieved to have discarded the suitcases and she turned back towards who was soon to be her landlady and her almost-flatmate. They'd be living in the same building, but not the same flat, so they would technically be flatmates. Or building-mates. Something like that.

"Oh, Olivia, I'm so happy to have you here." Mrs Hudson began, pulling Olivia into a friendly hug. "Now that we've finally gotten rid of that horrible damp patch, I've been trying to rent out this flat, but that silly Sherlock keeps driving everyone away!" She rambled. "Now, I know the furniture isn't the best, and the wallpaper is cheap and it's peeling in a few places, and the fireplace is quite dirty – I should've had that cleaned – but-" Olivia cut the older woman off with a shake of her head.

"It's… nice." She told her honestly. "And I've always wanted a fireplace. Not many people have them in Australia." She explained, glancing around and seeing that the wallpaper was, in fact, quite old and mucky. She'd have to see about getting it changed to something nice. Even just stripping the walls would make it better, she admitted, though she'd never say it in front of Mrs Hudson.

John, who was still standing uneasily beside the two women, spoke up now, shifting his hands in the pockets of the jacket he wore. "You're Australian?" He questioned, raising his eyebrows slightly before pausing, his eyebrows furrowing, and a somewhat thoughtful look on his face. "Now you mention it, you do have a slight accent." He mused.

Olivia nodded in response. "I was born in London, but I lived in Australian." She said simply. She didn't see the need for this total stranger to know the gritty details about her, and she didn't plan on telling him, certainly not until she got to know him better.

John replied with a simple. "Ah." Before yet another uncomfortable silence fell on the group, giving them all time to ponder.

Olivia wondered about what life on Baker St was going to be like. Was John a nice man? He seemed to be for now, but Olivia knew that a lot of people changed their colours when they got to know a person. Mrs Hudson seemed like she'd be a lovely landlady, quite a bit better than any others Olivia had met while she was apartment hunting, and Olivia already felt welcomed and content around the woman.

John, on the other hand, was praying for Olivia's sake. The girl seemed almost timid, and she was obviously quiet and shy. He was nervous as to how Sherlock was going to attempt to drive this one away; if he needed to _attempt _at all. In this world, Sherlock's personality alone could be enough to drive a man – or a woman – insane. But John liked Olivia. She seemed… Nice, he decided. Quiet, but nice.. Though he didn't dare get his hopes up, for Sherlock had crushed the resolve of many tenants over the past while, both the strong man and the rich woman, and even the lady with the cats.

Mrs Hudson's mind, above all else, was on the pie she had cooking in the oven at present, and as a buzzer went off in the woman's head, she figured it was time to leave Olivia alone to get acquainted with the apartment – well, better acquainted than she had been for the first few visits.

"Well then, John and I will be off for now, we'll let you settle yourself in. Come up and see me for tea whenever you're ready, dear, and you can meet Sherlock." Mrs Hudson prayed that the meeting would go well, since she did like Olivia, enough to hope that Sherlock would not scare her away as he had done to many others.

Olivia nodded in response and began moving her things further into the apartment as John and Mrs Hudson both left, and she took a better look around her new home. She had the basics; a bookshelf, a bed, a bathroom, a kitchen, a dining table, and a few other things that a rent flat would normally have. She just needed to get herself a couch or a chair, since as of yet she had nowhere to sit – beside her bed and the few chairs at the dining table.

The girl sat her suitcases down in her bedroom and her bag on her bed, which, surprisingly, already had a blanket on it, though there was no sheet. It was a good thing Olivia had brought one. Her mother's clever thinking, no less. Mothers were seriously the best for remembering things or thinking of those things that you would always miss or never think to take.

With that aside, Olivia began unpacking her clothes and putting them in the draws, a few shirts hanging in the wardrobe, and soon two of her suitcases were completely empty, save a few bathroom necessities that had yet to find a home. Olivia left the suitcases for now and decided she should go up to meet this "Sherlock" character, who she figured was a flatmate of John's. Mrs Hudson had introduced them as 'the two boys who live together upstairs'. Olivia found it odd that John hadn't seemed the least bit… Well, _gay_, but she figured that he was the more 'manly' half of the couple, so to speak. Most gay couples, stereotype or not, had two halves that fit together. Adam and Evan, no less.

Another thing Olivia wondered about was why Mrs Hudson and John had seemed so apprehensive of her meeting the man. She couldn't help her mind from wandering through several different possibilities, though she wasn't sure whether or not she'd ever manage to guess, or even come close. Perhaps he was a reclusive, or particularly scared around people? Maybe he was incredibly timid and shy, or even had some kind of personality disorder. Bipolar, maybe? Maybe he was- Olivia stopped herself there, not wanting to further insult the man – or at least, she considered her making guesses an insult in its own way.

As she made her way up the stairs, Olivia stopped short as a man suddenly spun around the corner and dodged her as he ran, full bolt, down the stairs. She managed to catch a big grin and a billowing coat before the front door of 221B was slammed shut and he was gone with a call of, "It's a case, John, a case!"

John came running, though not as enthusiastically as the previous man – who Olivia presumed to be the aforementioned "Sherlock" – down the stairs and narrowly stopped in front of Olivia, ducking around her with an apologetic shake of his head, slight exasperation seeping through his words. "Sorry, that was Sherlock. You know how he gets on a case- wait, no you don't." John stopped himself as he realised how natural it had become for him to be justifying his friend's actions, and he wasn't entirely pleased. If he along with Mrs Hudson – and even _Mycroft_, in some cases– kept babying him like this, he'd never learn about people. "Sorry." He apologized again before running out the door after Sherlock.

Olivia stood still for a minute as she took in what she had just witnessed. A case? Sherlock was with the police, then? A really, incredibly enthusiastic police officer? She shrugged to herself before continuing up the stairs and coming to be in front of Mrs Hudson.

"Ah, Olivia, dear, take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I've got some pie fresh out of the oven!" She gushed, gesturing to the small table before them as Olivia pulled out a chair for herself, happy to be off her feet after being on them for quite some time. The girl watched as Mrs Hudson put a slice of apple pie – that Olivia admitted smelled amazing – on a plate and set it, along with a tray of tea, complete with little teacups that looked like a slightly upsized version of a tea set Olivia had played with when she was younger, on the table before her.

"Thanks." Olivia said simply as she took a forkful of the pie and ate it slowly, revelling at the taste that was left in her mouth. Fresh apples, no doubt, and good ones too – that, and what Olivia would soon learn to be Mrs Hudson's brilliant cooking.

"No need to thank me, consider it a welcoming gift." Mrs Hudson replied modestly as she cleaned some dishes and washed the bench. "Though, don't expect me to wait on you, now. I'm not your housekeeper."

Olivia just smiled once more at the woman as she ate the last of her pie, pouring herself a cup of tea and resisting the urge to laugh at the tiny little teacups that felt as though they'd break in her hands. Back in Australia, they drank their tea from a mug, simply put. The British had a reputation for "fancying a spot of tea", though the Aussies had their equally annoying reputation of "throwing shrimp on the barbie", regardless of the fact that the preconceived idea was untrue, so reputations of countries, ultimately, meant nothing in Olivia's opinion – and probably the opinions of most.

There was only a minute of silence before Mrs Hudson spoke up, and Olivia quickly began to realise that the older woman was definitely one for small talk, though it wasn't annoying small talk. Some people can be terrible for that, and Olivia was undeniably _not _a small talker. She would much rather the peaceful atmosphere of silence – though silence could just as easily be uncomfortable.

"So, how are you liking the flat, dear? I hope the rent's not too high for you – I think it's a reasonable price, but-" Olivia shook her head to stop the erratic woman from taking the pointless chatter any further.

"It's absolutely fine." She said simply. "The price is fine for my budget; it's not too high at all." She assured. "And the flat's sweet, just what I wanted for my first flat in London." She confessed. Olivia hadn't told many people that she was looking to live in the UK – or, to go _back _there, but Olivia knew she wanted to go back home when she was older, and she had also planned to live in a nice, and perhaps even quaint, little place. It suited her better, personally.

Mrs Hudson looked relieved, though it was hard for many different emotions to seep through her wrinkled face; the woman always seemed to be wearing a smile, no matter what was being said or happening. She just has that kind, homely face in general, Olivia decided. And her eyes were always smiling. "Ah, good then. I'm glad you're settling in." She enthused as she continued cleaning up the small kitchen. "I do hope Sherlock likes you – though, it takes quite some time for Sherlock to warm to anyone. Goodness knows it took him a long time to warm for me." She went off once more. "When my husband-" At this point Olivia decided she could tune out without missing anything of mass importance.

Who was this 'Sherlock' person, and why exactly was it so important that the man liked her? She'd figured that he was John's flatmate, which did mean that they would all be, technically, living together, as she was just below them and in the same building, but Mrs Hudson was the landlady; why did Sherlock have any say over who rented the flat below him? It puzzled Olivia and she was deep in thought before she finally registered Mrs Hudson standing before her, leaning down slightly and calling out to her.

"Olivia, dear, did you hear me?" She was saying, her head cocked slightly and that ever-kind expression still resting on her face, slight concern etched into her brow. "Are you alright?" She continued, frowning a little more.

"Oh, sorry, what? I zoned out for a second." Olivia laughed awkwardly, but didn't have much time to feel the awkward atmosphere before Mrs Hudson had continued.

"You must have been deep in thought, then." The old woman proceeded to repeat herself, getting off the topic quite quickly. "I asked if you like the violin. You might hear Sherlock playing from time to time. It helps him think when he's on a case." She explained, not even giving Olivia a second to answer. "Though, I'm surprised he doesn't compose more often. I heard him playing a particular piece of his own that was just lovely, really."

Olivia nodded along with what she said; an indicator that she was still listening. She felt it necessary, considering she had just zoned out on the poor woman. "I do like the violin. I like classical music, and the more peaceful kind of music." Olivia explained, thinking over the music she most often listened to. She liked piano quite a bit, and while she had tried to learn the instrument a few times before, she could never quite get the hang of the whole two-handed thing. Olivia quickly asked the question she had wanted to ask for quite some time now. "You said it helps him think during cases? What does he do?"

Mrs Hudson's eyes flashed with admiration as she spoke of Sherlock, and it soon became apparent that she was quite fond of the man. "He helps the police out on cases from time to time. He's a genius, that man." She shook her head as she spoke. "Though he does get excited over the idea of murder. It's not healthy." She rattled. "And he doesn't eat properly and he shoots up my wall." She sighed.

Olivia was almost scared at this point. Excited at the idea of murder, not eating properly and _shooting up a wall_? Just who _is _this guy? Olivia wondered. The police don't go to random people for advice or help on cases. He had to have some relation to a police officer or something, she concluded. But from the sounds of what she had heard so far, the man seemed incredibly strange. And he was quite tall.

Olivia decided that it was about time she left Mrs Hudson to her own devices, and that she had better unpack the rest of her things before she got some much needed sleep. "Well," She began, standing as she picked up the plate that had previously held her pie, along with the cup she had used. The teacup, that is. "I should unpack the rest of my stuff. Thanks for the pie, it was delicious." She told the woman, who quickly grabbed Olivia's dishes from her.

"I'll take those." She said as she dumped them in the sink beside her. "No need for you to clean up. As you said, you should unpack your things. And get some rest, dear, you must need it after such a long flight." She rambled as she ushered Olivia out the door. "Let me know if you need help with anything, or if there's anything wrong with the flat!" She called as Olivia continued down the stairs.

The new tenant of 221C Baker Street laughed slightly at the woman's near-constant worrying. It was almost as if the entire world were her children, and she had to look after them all. "Sure thing!" She called before closing the door to her flat gently and looking around at the little place. It was nice, and just what Olivia had needed. The "typical Australian lifestyle" had never really suited her; she was always more of an indoors-y, 'stay-in-with-a-book' type rather than a partying type, and the picturesque little apartment was everything she could have hoped for to further encourage her own lifestyle. She loved her family to bits, but she wanted to get away from the noise for a while, and what better way to do it then to live over in the place she had been born in? At least, that was how Olivia saw it. The rest of her family seemed to think she had always been one of them – the domestic British people, that is – and that she had retreated back into her own world because they had been too much. Olivia didn't mind though; she knew they were _half _joking.

Those thoughts aside, Olivia smiled to herself as she continued unpacking everything she had brought with her, from photographs to her favourite pair of socks.

It was nice to breathe in the London air.

**A/N: So, there it is! The much awaited Prologue and first chapter of my new story - Even Sociopaths Need Blankets! Thanks to Mayday Parade for finally giving me a title, even though it isn't perfect. I still like it :) Comes from the song, Even Robots Need Blankets.**

**Yay! So happy to finally share this with people :D I've planned much of this story. It's top priority with one other story, too, so eeekk! Better updates (hopefully).**

**Dedicated to Caity, because she got me into Sherlock, goddammit. Changed my life, you did!**

**Well, lemme know what you think! PLEASE DON'T BE A SILENT READER D: Meh. I appreciate you all :)**

**Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Even Sociopaths Need Blankets**

**Chapter 2**

"Enjoy the rest of your day!"

Olivia smiled and nodded to the cashier, taking the three bags of food and other necessities and hanging them over her arms, stepping out into the pouring rain and running over to the path as she left the store, attempting to 'hail a cab', as the British put it. In Australia, it was simply catching a taxi, but the British had their particular way to say things. Olivia would admit that she was finding the different ways that the British said or did things interesting, and somewhat hard to adjust to, though she hadn't been around that much anyway, and had only been in the UK for a day.

She sighed exasperatedly as she stepped back under the cover of a row of shops, sheltering herself from the rain temporarily. Another thing she was having a hard time adjusting to; the rain. It had rained _all day_! Sure, they had rainy days back in Australia, but it barely ever rained a full day without breaks. Constant rain wasn't something Olivia liked, unless she was inside and sheltered from it all. It was nice when she was in_side, _not when she was in _it. _The heat of Australia was something Olivia had always loved. Playing volleyball on the beach with her friends and family had always been a highlight. There was a lot she would miss.

After a few more attempts to get a taxi, Olivia sighed once more and was on the verge of giving up as she stood out in the rain, contemplating if she could remember enough of the way to Baker Street to walk, or if she could ask someone or something, until she was shielded from the rain when an umbrella was held over her head.

Olivia turned to see a man who was slightly taller than herself standing before her wearing a grey business suit, an almost wry smile painted on his face. "Cold?" Was all he said as he looked down at her, the smile never changing, almost fake against the rest of his features.

Olivia was slightly nervous at the fact that this almost predator-like stranger had approached her on the street, on a dull and rainy day. Back in Australia, people weren't as prone to random acts of kindness as Londoners seemed to be, and Olivia had a hard time believing that there weren't any ulterior motives hidden in the man's mind. But she decided to give it a chance, just as she had given London a chance, and in turn, all the different mannerisms that came with the new place.

"Yeah, a bit." She said, shifting her foot slightly, almost ready to just run away from the man, though he did appear quite fit – as fit as a business man could afford to be. They probably couldn't exercise often. Though businessmen always seemed to have incredibly long strides. He was obviously high up on the business chain, anyone could tell that simply from the way he was dressed, and the way he held himself.

The man chuckled lightly. "The London weather is quite an adjustment from the heat." He said, making Olivia incredibly uneasy until she realised that it was just her accent; everyone knew an Australian accent when they heard it, and everyone knew that Australia was hot. It was common knowledge.

"Y-yeah, it is." She agreed, forcing a slight nod in acknowledgment. It was hard to move her body because of the cold, and also because of the aloof atmosphere that came from the man that stood beside her. He wasn't the approachable type, in her opinion.

And what he said next only served to multiple her discomfort by a million.

"Your ride home."

Olivia faltered as a black car pulled up on the curb beside them, a woman dressed in a thin black dress opening the door and offering for Olivia and the man to get in.

Olivia glanced back at the man, who wore an almost expectant expression on his face, as though he assumed that she was just going to easily get in the car, no questions asked. Olivia found several flaws in this, as would anyone, and simply replied with a hesitant and fumbled, "Oh, I-I really don't think it's…" She trailed off and left the sentence open to whatever the man – and the woman, in this case – would decide to think it was. It almost seemed like, well, prostitution to Olivia, and she would have fully assumed that her suspicions were true had the man not been so blunt about it.

"I insist." He said with another fake smile, this one almost evil. It made Olivia's insides turn upside down. First, a stranger off the street had sheltered her from the rain, and now a black car pulls up and he expects her to get inside willingly, and go wherever he decides to take her. Olivia did not like this at all, but something about the man's _insistence_… It made her movements almost unwilling as she stepped towards the car.

She slid inside, followed by the woman and the man, all wedged in uncomfortably, though, when the woman pulled out a phone and started rapidly texting – and proceeded to do this for the entire duration of the ride – it quickly became apparent that she wasn't at all uncomfortable as Olivia was, which meant the man probably wasn't uncomfortable either. These thoughts only proceeded to make Olivia even more uncomfortable as she supressed the urge to shift in her seat.

"Where to?" The driver asked, directing the question towards the man, who turned to Olivia.

"Yes, where to?" The way each word rolled off of his tongue almost seemed to be ridiculing Olivia, but she knew better and figured that it was just the man's tone of voice, and his posture and, well, pretty much everything about him.

To make matters worse, now he wanted to know where she lived.

"221B Baker Street."

Olivia didn't even know _why _she said it. She probably should have said an address a few blocks away – regardless of the fact that she didn't even _know _any addresses a few blocks away – or just downright not told the random and slightly creepy stranger her address! But she had done so anyway, and she was mentally kicking herself for doing it. She didn't like to make excuses, but she knew that it was just something about the man; the way he held himself and the way he spoke; it all commanded an air of superiority, and Olivia just felt obliged to do whatever he asked, or to answer his every question with complete and honest truth.

It wasn't long before they were pulled up outside of her home address, and Olivia wasted no time getting out of the vehicle and stepping up on the path, half expecting the man to pull her back in and take her someplace else. Though, funnily enough, he still didn't seem like that kind of man. He was uncomfortable to be around, and he seemed to have some kind of a lust for power, but aside that, he did have quite a kind face.

After a moment of silence, Olivia finally managed to get out a spluttered, "Thanks!" Before she realised that she really should ask the man a few questions. "Who are you?" She asked. "And why did you help me, and…" She trailed off, not really knowing what she should even say to the man, trying to resist a frown in his presence.

"Someone who's interested." The man smiled slightly, the expression almost condescending in its own way. Before Olivia could even begin to ask what he meant, the man continued. "As to why I did it… Consider it a welcoming gift." He told her, once again not giving her any time to question how he could have known she had recently moved in before he finished with, "And, quite frankly, you're useless at getting a cab." Just before the door to the car was shut, he concluded the almost one-sided conversation. "We'll have to have lunch sometime. 'Til then." With that, the door was shut firmly with that sound that an old-car-that-seems-new makes, and Olivia was left standing outside her apartment's door with the bags on her arms, wondering what exactly had just happened.

When she finally realised that she was still standing out in the rain getting more and more soaked the longer she stood there, she took the initiative to step inside, getting the key to her apartment out and unlocking the door, heading in and setting the now soaked bags of food on the bench. At least the food isn't wet, she thought as she started packing everything away.

The man had said something about going out to lunch sometime, and yet he didn't get any of her details – not even her name! But he did know where she lived, and that in itself unnerved Olivia greatly. That, and the fact that the man somehow knew she had recently moved in. If he had simply figured that she was a tourist or something, it would have been acceptable… But how did he know that she was living here? She thought back and realised that she probably shouldn't have just openly said her address, but she just… didn't seem to have control at the time. That was all she had going for at the moment.

She sighed and shut her cupboard, storing the bags in a draw and heading out into the lounge. She checked the time to see 5 pm and figured she'd head up to see if John and Sherlock were home. She was supposed to have dinner with the two so that she could meet Sherlock, and it was close enough to dinner time that it would be okay.

The door was answered after a short knock, and John greeted Olivia and ushered her inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

"Take a seat," He said, gesturing to the furniture in their flat. Olivia thought she had a bit of mess with her half-settled apartment, but Sherlock and John had mess everywhere! The desk was covered in unorganised papers and with a peek into the kitchen, she saw _lab equipment_. In the kitchen. What did these boys _do_?! There was a skull, on the mantel. A skull. A human skull.

Olivia hesitantly did so, sitting in a nice big comfy looking armchair and settling herself in it as John brought a platter of tea in from the kitchen. The tea was probably prepared by Mrs Hudson, as the tray was set out neatly – and the teacups were covered in a floral pattern. Though, the two boys were together in Olivia's knowledge, so perhaps Sherlock, who seemed so far to be the more 'feminine' side to the couple, liked that particular pattern? But Olivia decided she wasn't in the position to guess at this stage. Maybe they were both manly. She was just planting stereotypes on the two of them.

"Sherlock, with his inexplicable manners," John spoke as he handed her a cup of tea, sitting down in his own seat, "Has decided that he won't be turning up for dinner. He's off elsewhere doing God knows what." John sipped at his own cup, holding back his exasperation in front of Olivia. Why Sherlock insisted on making the man chase after him everywhere he went, John didn't know. But this time, John had decided to actually get to know the person who was now living in their apartment building. It was particularly odd, considering that Sherlock had tested each and every one of the other tenants so far and had found different ways to drive each and every one of them out, yet he had yet to investigate Olivia. John knew for a fact that Sherlock wanted to, but the case that he was currently working on was taking a lot of his attention, and he wasn't going out of his way to try and meet the girl as he had the other renters.

John had liked a few of them, though there were some _odd _ones.

There had been a boy around 17 who had recently moved out of home. He owned several frogs; big, green ugly things that sat in a tank croaking all day. Sherlock could not _stand _the constant distraction, and while he could have just tuned it out – he certainly tuned John out often enough – he had insisted upon disposing of the frogs. The boy was lucky he had caught Sherlock in the middle of planning how best to get rid of them. He loved the frogs enough to leave quite quickly.

There was a woman who had obviously had some kind of dark secret. She wore a lot of make-up and had a book in her hand whenever John saw her. Sherlock had taken one look at her, whispered something in her ear and she was gone the next morning. John didn't even want to ask, quite honestly.

John's particular favourite, however, was the old lady who had instantly engaged in conversation with Mrs Hudson. John had probably just appreciated the fact that she had stopped his landlady's constant rambles, – or at least taken them elsewhere – as John was often the main audience for the woman. The lady, however, had a son who came to visit and had started somewhat of a row between himself and Sherlock. Sherlock had allegedly remarked upon the boy's weight and earned himself a nice bruise under his left eye, much to the distaste of the boy's mother, and she had packed up quite quickly, leaving behind both Mrs Hudson and John, both of whom were disappointed, though for different reasons.

John, however, had yet to know anything about the ginger haired woman sitting in front of him. He didn't have anything _close _to his partner's skills of deduction, and so he found himself almost feeling pressed at the fact that he didn't immediately have everything about the woman at his disposal. Sherlock had everything with the others down to a 'T', but when John looked at Olivia, all he saw was a petite woman who liked being quiet. And as far as he knew, he could even be wrong about that!

The best way, he figured, to get to know the woman, was simply to do it the old fashioned way: have a conversation.

So they did.

It hadn't taken long at all for the two of them to warm to each other, and they were both quite pleased with the development.

So far, John knew that she had been born in England and lived the first years of her life in an orphanage, but had been brought up afterwards in Australia. He knew that she loved her family quite dearly, obvious from the way she talked about them as fondly as she did, and that one of her cousins had recently had a baby. He also discovered that she had a strict diet of daily custard; she clearly loved the stuff a lot, as she had cut their dinner – which consisted of some Chinese from down the block – for a moment to run down and get a bowl from her apartment. John was amused when he saw how messy she was with her food; she had spilled quite a bit of rice on the floor – and had quickly cleaned it up – along with staining her white shirt with a rather large custard stain that she had obtained after laughing at a story John had told her about his sister Harriet.

Needless to say that it was a fruitful evening for John, as he had come to like the girl. She hadn't taken much to open up, and he was glad that she wasn't as quiet as she had seemed during their first brief meeting. She was a good person to talk to, but she also spoke back, which he liked.

Olivia, on the other hand, liked John, but she knew that it was going to take some time to adjust to living with someone unfamiliar to her. He liked to strike up conversation, that much she found blatantly obvious from the second they began to talk, but he was quite easy to stay on track with, so that was okay.

"Well, it was great to meet you." John said as he cleared up their tea tray, Olivia packing up the rubbish from the take out. "Properly, anyway." He flashed an almost emotionless smile towards Olivia, one that he seemed to wear quite often.

Olivia nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you too." She said simply, dumping the rubbish in the bin before she grabbed the bowl she had used for her custard and tapped it as she made her way to the door. John headed over and gave her a farewell nod and slight wave – the brief kind you give to someone who's standing five feet away.

"See you whenever Sherlock decides to finally meet you." He concluded, and Olivia simply nodded and headed down the stairs.

With the way the dinner had ended, anyone could assume that it had been a date, but at the same time, it _had _been in John and Sherlock's flat, hardly the setting for a date, _and _the meal was relatively cheap take away. That, and the fact that as far as Olivia knew, the men were in a pretty steady relationship.

John had felt the "date" sort of vibe from the evening too, but he didn't really see Olivia as his 'type', per say. She was a little bit too quiet and shy, and while she was _cute, _she wasn't really that… Well, she wasn't what he was looking for in a woman. He left the subject as he turned in for the night, hoping that Sherlock would at least be quiet when he finally returned, and that he wouldn't wake anyone.

Olivia cleaned the bowl and spoon just before she settled into her bed. Aside from the strange encounter with the, well, _stranger_, earlier that day, spending dinner with John had been nice, and she could only hope that Sherlock was just as kind to her when she met him, especially considering the apprehension John and Mrs Hudson had expressed towards the meeting.

It will probably all be fine, Olivia decided as she drifted into a ridiculously comfortable sleep. She had been on her feet way too much these past few days.

* * *

**A/N: I wrote 1,500 words today, Please love me. Usually it's around 500 a day D: Just for you guys. And oh my gosh, assuming that you've most likely figured out who the "mystery" character is (it's incredibly obvious, meant to be XD), I have to say HOLY JEEZ HE IS HARD TO WRITE. So awkward and reserved and aloof .-.**

**And because it's 2:26am, I found that I was too lazy to dialogue all the John/Olivia scene. Hence the large explanation paragraph. **

**Now, I promised that I would do this as a massive thank you to all the readers who fanned/favourited/reviewed on Fanfiction. Of course, massive thanks to EternalSilence and AlexTheLlama over on Wattpad, but I ended up with quite a few readers on FF! So thanks!**

**HUGE thanks (and a million cookies) to Justine-Bro and RainbowShelby for their AMAZING REVIEWS OH MY GOSH THANKSSSSSS 3**

**Everyone who reviews received a PM reply, because that's what I do :D Always have, always will.**

**Also a huge thanks to the following, because these people have followed/favourited my story and have given me inspiration to write for you.**

**Cara-D, CatBloodxxx, DaisyPierce, RainbowShelby 3, TheAngelGirl357, WhereAreYouBatman, Angelic324, EverydayMagic17, , Justine-Bro 3, PheonixUnicorn115, SapphireViolin, emfalcon, gossamermouse101, hannahizar, moonsword17, nachobeats823 and wood-morning!**

**Sorry if I got names wrong or mentioned anyone twice or something. It's now 2:34am. Cut me a break.**

**But, thankshoo all because it was knowing that I had people waiting that made me feel the need to write more. I hope you stay for the duration of this story, and that you enjoy it :D**

**Love you guys HEAPS 3**

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**Now, I know people are reading this, so my challenge for you is to tell me at least one good thing that happened to you today!**

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**Love you anyways :D**

**Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Even Sociopaths Need Blankets**

**Chapter 3**

If there was one thing that Olivia knew for sure, it was that Mr Hayworth did _not _like her. He dismissed nearly everything she said, and while most of what she said in her own defence was entirely valid, he shot every single point that she raised down and didn't even _begin _to try and digest any of it. He was quite frustrating, in Olivia's opinion, though she didn't dare express it. It _was _a job interview, and while she had a slight feeling that the opportunity was long gone, she didn't want to blow it entirely; just in case, though she was beginning to wonder if there was even a point anymore.

"Why do you want this job?" His drawl as he chewed a fat piece of gum – that somehow didn't impede his speech – indicated that he really was _incredibly _disinterested in her. That and the fact that he had asked the same question, the same _basic _question, several times now.

"Ah, well," Olivia began with the same answer she had now said several times. "As you know, I just moved to London and I need a source of income to pay rent and for general needs." Olivia was fully prepared to go on and recite the rest of her answer once more but she saw that Mr Hayworth was fully tuned out and focusing on his secretary.

Why did a café owner even _need _a secretary? Honestly? Though, Olivia already knew full well _why _this particular man needed a secretary – it was a dangerous stereotype, but the girl was tall, skinny and she had cleavage… And the way that Mr Hayworth continuously glanced, for more than just a second, at her with lingering eyes similar to a tiger lying in wait – okay, now Olivia was just being passive aggressive. But at least the girl wasn't dressed in entirely inappropriate clothing – she was wearing a nice suit.

"Look," She glanced at him as he spoke and waited for his opinion, which she now felt was entirely unneeded. He even had to glance back down at her profile to get her name! "Olivia, dear, I require my waitresses to have more…" He paused for a moment before considering what he would say. "Spunk." He continued speaking but Olivia decided to tune the man out at this point. She had had it with. Spunk? Lying piece of…

"Olivia? You can see yourself out?" Olivia nodded and got out of her chair more than willingly, walking out the door and sighing a little. This wasn't her first failed job, either. She had many back in Australia, and now one two for the record here. So far.

She had applied for the position of a banker. Nothing special, just a job she'd done back in Australia and thought she could continue here. At least the first job interview had been better than the one she had just walked out of.

Michael Davey, her possible employer, had been incredibly kind. He hadn't hired her simply because they already had a long list of possible people and some of them, quite frankly, were better than her. That was bound to happen though, so she didn't let it get to her too much. And the man was very nice about it – he was one of those people who could be professional and casual at the same time, somehow.

Olivia wasn't half bad when it came to mathematical equations, and she might have made an excellent banker, but she hadn't ever studied further education, and she had figured that it was simply her lack of knowledge in the area that had been the main contributing factor as to why he hadn't hired her. She didn't have the heart to directly ask him about it, because he was such a nice man and she felt that making him tell her the reasons why it had been a negative response would be like trying to force him to admit to a murder that he didn't commit; he was just doing what was best for the place in which he worked, as would anyone who wanted the best for their occupation.

She found that any other jobs that she had applied for either didn't suit her or wouldn't take her because she had only just settled into London and 'didn't understand their lifestyle', which she figured what probably just an excuse not to hire her. This didn't stop her from trying multiple jobs, each time answering the questions with the same rehearsed responses, and each time failing to land the job or even hold much interest from the potential employer. She knew that it couldn't be the answers, as she had attained many jobs back in Australia using the very same ones, but she just didn't understand why she wasn't getting anywhere _close _to having a job.

People probably deal with this all the time, she thought. I've only been through several jobs so far, I might have to apply for many more until I finally end up getting one.

She sighed as she stepped out of the taxi – which she had finally managed to get a better grasp of catching – and onto the front path before 221B Baker Street, entering the apartment building and heading downstairs into 221C. Her kitchen was currently home to quite the building pile of dirty dishes, and after changing out of the quite uncomfortable suit that she had donned for her failed interview, she rolled up her sleeves and began to tackle the mountain-that-wasn't-really-a-mountain.

It was while she was scrubbing a bowl clean of its sticky residue – that was probably custard at one point – that her phone rang with its loud and quite obnoxious tone, demanding that she leave her post and answer whoever was calling her at such an inconvenient time.

Olivia quickly grabbed a hand towel and dried her hands minimally, darting into the lounge room and grabbing her phone, resting it against her ear as she pressed the little green button that had popped up on the screen. "Hello?"

A familiar voice came through the speaker and she frowned in confusion when she realised who it was. "Hi, Olivia! It's Michael Davey, you came by for an interview a few days ago!" His cheery voice almost lead Olivia to believe she was being called back for the job, but she'd been denied on the day.

"Um, yeah, hi." She replied, not entirely sure of what to say.

Michael didn't give her a chance to ask before shooting into an explanation. "So, I know that I declined you for the job a few days ago, but I got in touch with a friend of mine and she's looking for someone with adjustable hours to work at her library, just simply jobs like being at the desk or stacking books."

Olivia was elated to hear the news and was about to ask for an address and contact details before Michael continued speaking.

"So, I recommended you to her, and, sorry about not asking permission, but I gave her your résumé and she said that if you want it, you've got the job."

Olivia blinked at this and shook her head slightly before realising that she had her job problem solved. "Oh, wow, thanks! That'd great." She told him honestly, feeling a little spout of butterflies in her stomach – butterflies that she was grateful to have.

Michael then proceeded to give her his friend's number and she called, securing the job for herself and feeling a load off her chest. She sat down on the couch and was almost ready to just sleep, after a few days of tedious interviews, getting one that she hadn't even technically applied for. It was really handy for her.

Then she realised that she still had some dishes to do. Darn.

After finishing the dishes, she sat down to a bowl of custard and a good book, reading through, ending up with a single little custard stain on her book – she had freaked out at this and quickly ran a cloth over the stain, only proceeding in making it much worse. Olivia was terribly messy with her food, and she didn't particularly like it.

Because she had no money, Olivia was set to eat some take-out with John and Sherlock in about half an hour, and John would be paying; money that Olivia planned to give back as soon as she could. It was kind of terrible that she hadn't thought ahead and brought more money over with her – her family wouldn't have hesitated to let her borrow some, and she wasn't really afraid to ask, knowing she would pay it back. When it came to a stranger, it was a completely different friend.

Even though, arguably, John wasn't entirely a stranger, he still wasn't under the same category as 'family' in the borrowing business, and she did feel quite guilty for having him pay for her dinner.

That aside, she rose from her seat and changed her shirt into something a little bit more presentable than her incredibly baggy pyjama shirt – she hated being seen in her PJs – and disposed of her bowl and spoon, already creating the beginning of a new pile of dishes that would slowly build just as the last had.

When she finally reached the open door of 221B Baker Street, she knocked gingerly on the frame. She wandered in, not an ounce of guilt striking her for some odd reason. She was hesitant to walk in, but she did so anyway.

The sight before her was rather odd, with a man sitting in a chair looking over at John and Sherlock, John who was sitting in one chair and Sherlock who was pacing around the room listening to what the man before them was saying, seemingly thoughtful towards it. The unknown man wore a hat and a suit-and-tie and looked incredibly flustered as sweat dripped off of his thick brow, a frown plastered across his face.

John beckoned for her to come in as the man continued speaking, disregarding the fact that she had just walked in. "…and then she said, 'I can't deal with you anymore, Wallace.' But I don't understand. She was fine yesterday, and then suddenly she hated me – I think she's seeing someone. Is she seeing someone, Mr Holmes?" He spoke fast and with an urgency colouring his every word, while John subtly raised his eyebrows at me and Sherlock just sat there with an expression that showed his thoughts on the situation, which he was quick to voice.

"_Why_ is it always_ obvious_?" His British accent drawing out the word 'obvious' with a little extra emphasise as he tightened the blue dressing gown he was wearing and sat in a comfy looking armchair.

He seemed stuck up. That was the very first impression of Sherlock Holmes that resounded through Olivia's mind. Sure, she had barely met him aside a few quick sentences and a second to glimpse him during the previous days, but the way that he spoke to the man… It came off as stuck up. She decided to quit trying to justify her judgement as John beckoned her further in the room with a tilt of his head.

"Mr Holmes, please, be serious about this." The man looked quite hot and bothered, which Olivia could understand, seeing the absolutely uninterested expression etched upon Sherlock's face, when he was evidently asking for help of some kind… She wouldn't have liked to have been in that position either. She could only empathise with him from a distance, though, not feeling it her place to just interrupt. "The papers say that you're the greatest detective in the world, and I just need some help. I didn't know where else to go."

Olivia found several things odd about what the man said. John had briefly explained what exactly it was that he and Sherlock did, but she still didn't quite understand the occupation, nor the level at which Sherlock stood in regards to said occupation. And, the fact that the man said he had nowhere else to go – wouldn't he have gone to a friend or even the police if his wife is in fact seeing someone? Olivia didn't really know whether or not the laws were different in Britain in comparison to Australia, but she figured they couldn't vary too much.

"_Clearly _your wife became fed up with your constant whining and decided to move on to a better…" Sherlock stopped after receiving an exaggerated warning look from John, who then rose to escort the man out. The man almost looked to be in tears, or at least it looked as though he was suffocating, or something, as he walked out red-faced and adjusting his collar.

Sherlock's attention then turned to her. Olivia somehow found herself feeling self-conscious to a certain degree, resisting the urge to shiver under his analytical gaze. She instead decided to, in an attempt to break the icy atmosphere that surrounded her, step forward and hold out a hand.

"I'm Olivia, I'm living downstairs." She introduced. "You probably already knew that but we haven't had the chance to actually meet." She pointed out, taking note of how long his fingers were when he reached out to return the gesture. Why did she even take note of that? She questioned herself.

"Ah, of course, Olivia!" His enthusiasm deeply contrasted his earlier attitude, and she found herself wondering if he was bipolar or something like that. Bad observations, though, Olivia realised. His enthusiasm was too _perfect_… And she figured he might even be acting extra enthusiastic in a way to… Insult her? She couldn't figure out for the life of her why she was reading so into him; maybe it was because she felt he was doing the same to her. "It's great to finally meet you!" He shook her hand with a strong sense of vigour, releasing it and standing up abruptly, walking over to a desk and shuffling through some papers. He seemed incredibly restless, to Olivia, as he moved about with a fast pace and an energetic air. "What part of London did you live in as a child?"

Olivia blinked at the odd, out of the blue and slightly stalker-creepy question, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown. She silently wished that John could be back up with them to save her from this awkward first meeting. "Um, around Westminster I think. I don't remember much." She answered uncertainly, her frown deepening. "How did you know I lived in London?" She asked.

Sherlock ignored her question and continued speaking to himself, as if he wasn't even aware of her presence in the room. "No, no, _no_, Lestrade." He chastised as he rapidly mashed together a text on his phone, pressing send before finally acknowledging that she had asked him a question, glancing up at her, only half interested. "You were an orphan, correct?" He ignored her question despite paying attention to her and only made her more confused.

"What- how did you know that?" She was started to become slightly scared at his knowledge of her, wondering if he had looked her up or something. That was the only explanation – but there couldn't be that much about her on the internet, and how did he even know her full name? Olivia was, to say the least, confused as anything.

"You lived in Westminster, but not for long. Westminster homes are generally high priced, and you obviously aren't very wealthy at all, which means an orphanage was the most likely possible answer. Simple." He explained, though the explanation really didn't clear up much at all, and only raised more questions.

"How did you even know that I lived in London as a kid, though?" She asked, still frowning. She didn't care if she was 'using more muscles' than smiling. That statement (that her parents so often reminded her of) was completely irrelevant at this moment in time. She didn't even know why she'd thought of it. Her mind was everywhere right now.

Sherlock was still replying to text messages or using his phone in some way as he answered her, making her wonder again if he was actually just looking it all up. It somehow wouldn't surprise her, and she didn't really even want to admit that he knew all of this about her before they had even met. John hadn't even known so much about her, or at least not enough to have told Sherlock, and he didn't seem like the type who would just go about telling other people about, well, _other people_. "When we were left alone in the room you stepped forward to shake my hand, yet your accent is Australian and only Australian men generally shake hands, unless someone else offers for a female to do so. Yet, shook my hand as a polite gesture. That suggests, even without any evidence, that you have spent some time in London, perhaps even grown up learning our customs."

While Olivia would be exaggerating if she said that he made her head hurt, he had succeeded in making her slightly frightened of what else he could have gathered about her. Though she really didn't have any deep dark secrets or things to hide, she still somehow felt nervous at how he knew so much with so little to go on. "Do you know anything else?" She asked, almost regretting even considering asking the question after she had said it.

"I know that you've grown up in an Australian family, quite a large one, and you have close relations to someone specific, perhaps an adoptive brother. You haven't got a job here as of yet and this has left you with little money, but you were somewhat wealthy living over in Australia, which suggests that the rest of your family were not supportive of you leaving. You recently sprained your wrist by landing on it the wrong way and it's still slightly sore, but you don't mind the pain because you've experienced worse physical pain before, probably because you were in a car accident several years ago where you got that scar." Olivia was ready for him to stop after he pointed out the scar that was permanently scratched into her forehead, just above her eyebrow. "And also, you particularly like custard."

Olivia refrained from asking how he knew everything else, shaking her head. "How did you even know I like custard?" She questioned the man before her, who was standing there with the hints of a cocky expression written across his face, his lip pulled up slightly. She didn't really know why she had asked about the custard over anything else, but she decided to go with it.

Sherlock simply descended his gaze downwards, and Olivia followed his eyes. She would have felt violated in some way had it not been for the rather large blotch of custard that rested on her shirt. She felt herself get that sensation, where you're embarrassed and you feel hot and cold all at once, and she tried not to let how flustered she felt on the inside show outside.

"I think I'll go change."

**A/N: Sorry if that was crappy. It's 11:30 at night on a Tuesday and I am really tired so I'm not editing – sorry if there are any continuity errors. Let me know. It's just that the inspiration bug bit me and I felt you guys deserved a chapter for being amazing. I can't be bothered typing anything else… Sorry, again, if it sucked. It will get interesting soon, very soon, I promise! x**

**Love you all, thanks!**

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